My Secrets
by embracing-shadows
Summary: Ron finds Harry drunk in his apartment. Doesn't Harry not drink? As alcohol takes it's considerable toll, secrets are spilled and perceptions are changed.


Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!

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There was an odd thudding noise somewhere, nudging at the back of his brain. It stopped, and then began again. It was a familiar sound, one that should have triggered a response. He furrowed his brow and thought for a minute before the answer dawned on him. Someone was knocking on the door. He was supposed to answer it. Harry lunged out of his thick armchair, sloshing his Firewhiskey on to the floor, and stumbled towards the front door of his flat. When the knocking resumed, Harry assumed a silly grin and knocked back before remembering that he was supposed to open the door, not play mores-code. There was no more impatient knocking as Harry slid the deadbolt out and swung the door open.

"Oh, Ron!" Harry exclaimed in zealous surprise before the momentum of the door carried him and he crashed sideways in to the wall and slid to the floor. Ron blinked down at him, thoroughly surprised. So shocked at finding Harry drunk alone that he didn't even laugh when the raven-haired man blinked up at him in confusion, as if he didn't know what happened. Harry giggled a bit. Harry never giggled. "Ron, hello! Come in! Hello!" he thrust his left hand out against the wall, his right still desperately clutching his Firewhiskey, and shimmied up until he was standing. It was then that he noticed the large bag of luggage next to his best mate, who was still standing flabbergasted in the hallway. "What's that for?" he slurred. Ron shook his head a little.

"Can I…stay here for a couple nights mate?" Ron asked quietly. Not even wanting to know the reason for his request, Harry agreed enthusiastically and ushered him in. He made an attempt to carry the luggage in, but tripped just in the door and ended up on the floor, still hugging the bag to his chest and still walking. It took a moment to realize he wasn't making progress, due to his being horizontal. Undeterred he stood, shut the door, and settled for pushing the bag in to the living room. Ron was standing there, glancing around as if he'd never been in Harry's flat before. Which was absolutely ridiculous, he was there three times a week!

"Harry, what happened here?" he asked. Harry looked around as if wondering the same thing.

"Well, obviously, someone knocked over my things." He replied very seriously. Ron gaped at him.

"Your things? Harry, there's three empty bottles of Firewhiskey lying around, a half empty one, drink on the floor, on the chair, on your clothes, and half smoked cigarettes everywhere! What the fuck happened here?" Ron would have been enraged had he not been so concerned. Didn't Harry not drink? Wasn't that why he refused to drink even a single glass of champagne at parties? Not even a beer in a restaurant? Yet the evidence here suggested that Harry had ingested more alcohol that all the Weasley brothers could manage together, all by himself! And since when did Harry smoke cigarettes? Harry shrugged and reached for the half empty bottle, intent on pouring more in to his glass. Ron violently tore it away from him.

"Don't just shrug! What the hell?" he was yelling, but he didn't care. Ron hated yelling at Harry, it wrenched at him in a way he couldn't stand. But it was deserved right now. He wanted – needed – to know what was going on. Harry blinked again, then his face clouded over and hardened, in a drunken kind of manner.

"I don't – I don't have to explain myself to you! Or anybody! I'm…I am my own…goddamn person Ronald something Weasley! Now I, I very seriously think you should locate a bowl. Or something." The anger faded as quickly as it had come up, leaving Ron even more boggled. He scrunched his face in confusion.

"A bowl? What on earth for?" he asked incredulously. Harry suddenly clutched his stomach.

"Because I am about to throw up, sir." he stated very matter-of-factly. Ron bolted for the kitchen and reached in to an open cupboard, pulled out a baking bowl and charged back in to the living room. Just as Ron stepped in to the room, Harry doubled over and fell to his knees. Just as Ron skidded to a halt and thrust the bowl under his face, Harry hurled. A horrid, scratchy retching noise filled the apartment. Ron shook his head until his realized Harry was shaking, severely. In a flash he was down beside his friend with an arm over his broad back. The shaking increased with every heave, and when that was finally over, it didn't stop. Ron was just beginning to wonder when a strangled sob met his ears.  
Harry was crying.

Ron leaned forward and gasped as the sight of Harry's face came in to view through his dark messy hair. His face was tightened as if in the worst pain ever, and fat silver tears poured out of his eyes, sliding off his cheeks in to the bowl he had just ruined. Despite his tightly clenched teeth, another suppressed sob escaped him, and he gasped as if to try and make the tears go away, as if to try desperately to calm himself. Ron was suddenly so much more worried. He had no idea what was wrong, not even an idea of what was going on. He wrapped his arm farther around Harry's waist and pulled the man back in to a sitting position. Harry kept his head down, shadowing his face with his hair and quivering like a newborn.

"Harry, mate, what's wrong?" Ron asked gently. This was happening so fast, he didn't know exactly how to react. But years of his brothers' bad girlfriend experiences had taught him to be gentle when they cry. When they're drunk. Harry only made a gurgling sound of protest and violently shook his head. He brought his hands up and buried his face in them. He wanted to hide, Ron realized. His worry increased. Things went wrong when Harry wanted to hide. Things already were wrong when Harry wanted to hide, and Ron had the strong urge to make everything better. He slowly pulled his friend in to a tight hug, and felt Harry burrow his head deep in to Ron's own chest. He sighed and held on a little tighter, willing Harry to let go and let himself cry on Ron. Harry didn't of course; he could never let go. Instead he fisted Ron's sweater and grunted, still trying to fight back the tears. After a while Ron pushed him back in to a sitting position and tried to look him in the eye. Harry refused to meet his gaze, turning his head away stubbornly like a child. With a sigh Ron nodded.

"Can you stand, Harry?" he asked. Harry silently shook his head, no. Without a word Ron bent and clasped his best mate around the waist, hauling him upright. He gently toed the ruined baking bowl out of the way and helped Harry stumble down the hall to his rather large bedroom. Harry slumped forward in to his bed, unexpectedly toppling Ron with him. They landed together in the soft mattress in a tangle of limbs, Ron on top of Harry's hard, whiskey-soaked chest. In his surprise, Ron had no time to react and pull away before Harry's hands had slipped around him and were holding him close, like a stuffed animal to sleep with. Determinedly he braced himself against the bed and tried to lift himself away, trying to turn to get off of his friend's bed.

"Harry, you have to sleep. I'll talk to you in the morning, all right? And I'm going to want to know just exactly what happened." Ron succeed in turning his body around before Harry's hands appeared on his chest, pulling him back down towards the mattress and a hard torso.

"Please don't go. Please stay Ron." Harry pleaded, giving his words extra effect by hugging Ron close to him from behind. The action was so foreign and unusual that Ron completely froze. "I don't want to be so alone tonight. So afraid" Harry's small whisper barely reached his ear. When it did his eyes widened in shock. He was seeing so many sides of Harry he'd never seen before. When the words sunk far enough in he realized that he couldn't possibly leave. Instead he rolled on to his back and gathered Harry in to his arms against his chest. Raven hair tickled his chin as Harry tucked his head in to the hollow of Ron's neck.

"Just for you Harry. And just for tonight." He breathed as Harry's body meshed with his own in a surprisingly vulnerable manner. Everything about his mate seemed to scream the need to be protected, the need to have his fears soothed. Amazingly, Ron found himself drifting off in a matter of moments, lulled by the cars on the street below and Harry's now rhythmic breathing. But just as he drifted in to blackness he could have sworn he'd heard Harry's voice.

"I'll take what I can get."

The next morning, Ron woke to find Harry hadn't moved in the slightest bit, but that his own legs were loudly protesting the lack of blood flow Harry's weight was causing. Gently, he disengaged himself from his friend and ghosted out of the bedroom. After a quick trip to the loo he entered the living room, only to be greeted with the putrid smell of vomit left out overnight. As quickly as he could he whipped out his wand and cast the strongest scourgify he could think of at the offending bowl. In a moment it was empty and shining, so he took it to the kitchen and grabbed rags. The rags he used to clean up all the sticky masses of whiskey from the floor, and then he used his wand to remove the stains from the furniture and gathered up the bottles and cigarettes and threw them in the trash. Hopefully when Harry awoke he would know nothing but a splitting headache and have no inclination of what he did the night before. Just as he thought this, Harry himself ambled in to the room holding on to his head as if it were about to break. Quickly tucking away his wand, Ron straightened up from bending over the trash bin.

"Morning." He greeted tentatively. Harry stopped moving and turned to look at him, both of them in rumpled clothes from the day before. Harry's eyes were squinted against the morning light.

"So it wasn't a dream? You really were here last night?" he asked in a groggy voice. Ron nodded slowly. Harry groaned a bit, and then held his head tighter in protest at the sound. "I remember…your luggage. Luggage?" Sleep slowly left his voice as he tried to reach his memory back past the amazing amount of liquor he had consumed. Ron waited breathlessly as Harry considered the foggy memory. "Why did you have luggage?" the dark-haired man asked.

"I kind of need a place to stay." Ron admitted, "For a little while. Not too long." He hurried his words, hoping Harry wouldn't refuse him, and yet at the same time knowing without a doubt that he wouldn't.

"Well, of course! As long as you need mate. But…do you suppose you could hand me that bottle there? Advil?" Harry plaintively pointed out a small white and red bottle on the counter and Ron passed it to him, watching as he removed too small pills and swallowed them effortlessly. As if he did this all the time. With a shiver he reached over and pulled a soft gray blanket off the back of a kitchen chair and wrapped it around his shoulders. Then he turned and ambled away in to the living room. Just as Ron followed him in to the room, the front door opened without a single knock and a slim woman stole in silently. She was holding a bucket full of bottles and a pair of gloves and a garbage bag.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ron exclaimed, louder than he intended, he realized, when Harry grabbed his head and groaned piteously. The woman stopped in her tracks and looked up to see Harry slumped on the couch and Ron hovering protectively above him, holding his wand pointed at her. She blinked in surprise, looked at the wand, and held up her bucket as if it were a shield.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She spoke in a quiet, gentle voice. "It's just that I usually clean up after Harry in the mornings!" She suddenly looked around and noticed that everything was perfectly tidy, despite Harry being in an obvious state. Ron glared and took in her slim figure, her long straight brown hair, and her blue-green eyes. He wondered suddenly if this was a girlfriend that Harry had for some reason kept secret from him. He wondered why for a moment before he decided that he didn't like her. That must have been why. The woman set down her cleaning supplies and crossed the room to kneel in front of Harry, forcing his face up to hers and opening one of his eyelids with her finger to look in to them. Ron felt the urge to knock this stranger away violently. Who was she to touch his best friend?

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" he asked, quieter this time. He wasn't really sorry, but he had to be polite in front of Harry. They obviously knew each other. Well. The woman looked up at him and thought for a moment before standing up and offering him her hand. He took it reluctantly and noticed that she was very petite, a delicious treat for any man interested. Ron was not interested.

"My name is Jennie, I live down the hall." She told him. He dropped her hand and narrowed his eyes at her, studying her some more as if he could see in to her mind if he looked hard enough. She didn't even flinch.

"Uh huh." He said slowly, not really knowing what else to say.

"I made it halfway through Mediwitch School before I dropped out from disinterest. I just come to take care of Harry, and clean up his place for him." She nodded as if to confirm her own words and Ron wondered just how often she had to do this. She let herself in to the kitchen for a moment and came back out carrying the five bottles of Firewhiskey in her hands, depositing them in her garbage bag. "Good to know he's cutting back a little." She muttered to herself. Ron almost choked on the incredulity of this statement.

"Five bottles is cutting back??" he whispered under his breath. If she heard him, she didn't let on, or didn't care enough about him to answer. When she was satisfied with the bottles she stood and wiped her hands on the hips of her jeans. Then she cocked her head and stared at him.

"You must be Ron." She stated nonchalantly. Ron gaped at her.

"How do you know my name?" he asked. She smiled a little bit and looked at Harry, now dozing peacefully on the couch, as she spoke gently.

"Harry of course." She said, as if it were the most obvious answer, although he'd never heard of her before. "He talks all the time. I've heard so much about you. He's a descriptive fellow, isn't he?" Ron blinked. No, Harry was not a descriptive fellow. With Harry you had to pry every detail from his lips. Although with the Harry that Ron knew, he never let a drop of liquor pass his lips – ever. So he just nodded. Then shook his head as if clearing his thoughts.

"Wait a minute, why does he talk about me all the time?" he asked, suddenly uneasy and afire with dread curiosity. The brown-haired Jennie looked up at him. "What does he say?" he asked. She tilted her head to the same side as she had before and pulled at the lobe of her right ear reflectively. Her eyes were a little sad, and a little pitying, though Ron wasn't sure if the pity was for him or for Harry. He wasn't inclined to ask either.

"I suppose he'll tell you all in his own time, Ron. Well, I must be off. I work nights, so I'm going to bed now. Have a good day Mr. Weasley. Take care of Harry please. Goodbye." And just like that she picked up her bucket and her bag and she was gone. The door clicked gently behind her just as Harry let out a soft snort and trembled, coming awake from his doze. Immediately all of Ron's attention was on the black-haired man he thought he knew. Harry ran his hands slowly over his face, already feeling much better thanks to the pain-killers he had taken, and looked reluctantly up at Ron. Ron hovered over him, worried, concerned, curious, and angry. Harry winced at his mixed expression. They were both silent for a long time before Ron sighed.

"So. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Or am I just going to have to start guessing in the dark?" Ron snapped. He knew his words were harsh, but he was just so lost, and a little hurt, although he wasn't sure why. Harry buried his face in his hands and took a deep, steadying breath. This isn't happening, he thought to himself.

"I don't know what to tell you Ron. I really don't. There's just no place to start." He looked apologetically up at his friend. Ron saw it in his eyes; he was searching for the words, but for some reason that just wasn't good enough. He wanted answers, damn it! He moved over to stand beside the fireplace and leaned both hands in it.

"Look Harry, I don't know what's going on, and I've got to admit I'm a little hurt but…"

"Ron, could you come away from the fireplace please?"

"No no Harry, don't interrupt. Now, I'm hurt, how could you keep all these secrets from me? I mean…"

"Ron, really, please come away from the fireplace."

"I thought you didn't drink. I thought you didn't condone alcohol and smoking was a disgusting habit…"

"Seriously, get away from my fireplace!"

"Harry would you STOP interrupting me!" Ron finally lost his temper, despite his best efforts to hold it in, and slammed both of his fists forward in to the design on the front of the fireplace mantle. Suddenly, the fist that had managed to hit the exact center of a circle, sunk in to the carved marble. The carving sunk in and slipped aside, revealing a hide-away hole in the mantle.

"Ron, oh god, don't touch those!" Harry was suddenly jumping out of his seat across the room. Intrigued, and a little angrier about even more bloody secrets being kept from him, Ron thrust a hand in and came out with a fist full of letters in envelopes. They were all addressed to him.

"Ron! Put those back! Now!" Harry's voice was frantic as he dashed across the room. He made a mad grab for them and succeeded in tearing most of them out of Ron's surprised hand, but in the process tripped and crashed to the floor. Using the delay, Ron danced back out of reach and tore open a letter, retrieving the pristine, folded parchment from inside.

"Ron! No!" Harry was in sheer panic, horror lacing his voice as he tried to free his leg from the coffee table, watching helplessly as Ron took in the words of his hidden letters.

_Dear Ron  
It's harder and harder each day. Watching you with Hermione. She loves you so much, but God knows I love you more. She doesn't deserve you. She could never treat you as well as I could, never love you as much as I could, never give you everything the way I could. I want to. I want to hear your every, most private dream and then use my every power to fulfill it. I want to build you mountains, Ron.  
Do you know my wish Ron? My private dreams that I keep secret and hidden until the alcohol fills me and clouds my mind and I'm shouting it for all to hear. I love Ron Weasley. I would give the world, my very life to hold you for but a moment and know that for that single moment, you felt it to, the love. That connection that binds my soul to yours so I could never let go, so I could never find another. You thought I saw Ginny didn't you? Everyone knows I want to be a part of your family, but if they only knew which Weasley I want to be a part of it with.  
Could you ever love me Ron? Could you ever look in to Hermione's eyes and say, "I don't love you, but him"? Would you accept me as your lover? Your companion? You are my everything Ron. Every time I see you and her, I see that look you give her and I can feel my heart swell and burst and –_

The letter suddenly stopped as it was torn violently from Ron's fingers. Harry stood there, wide, horror-filled eyes trained on him with tears standing in them. His breath came in ragged pants, and his mouth tried to form words but found none. Ron could only stare back, his breath taken away and his thoughts halted. Neither of them moved; neither knew what to do, or how to react. Ron's thoughts were a roller coaster, a speck of dust in a hurricane. The information he had just taken in permeated his consciousness until he couldn't think anything else.

"Oh god." Harry's broken whisper reached through the fog of confusion and met his ears heartbreakingly. He blinked and watched as his best mate hit his knees like a man condemned and wrap his arms about his own shoulders. He didn't cry, but the tears kept building in his eyes and he was shaking like he did the night before. Only now Ron knew what he had witnessed the night before. It was all making sense now. He saw why Harry wouldn't drink, why he never left his apartment until at least noon, why he never dated. Suddenly, he wondered what the rest of the letters said. What the rest of that particular letter said also caught his attention. He looked down at Harry. Finally the shorter man stood and walked over to the fireplace mantle, gently replacing all of the secret letters in their hole. Then he turned and ran a hand through his hair, not meeting Ron's eyes. Ron watched him carefully.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, and then slowly disappeared down the hall and in to his bedroom. Ron remained where he was for a short while longer before the information he had absorbed actually sunk in. Harry loved him. Harry wanted to be with him. Harry was jealous of Hermione. In seconds he was moving towards Harry's hallway, to his bedroom door, and he stopped in the doorframe. Harry looked up from the edge of the bed where he sat, balked, and looked down again. "Look, I said I was sorry. You can leave." He said quietly. Ron knew just what lines his mind was thinking along. He slowly, step by step came to stand in front of Harry, then slowly lowered himself to the floor and leveled their faces, though Harry would not meet his gaze. Then he steeled himself for what he was about to say.

"You…love me too, Harry?" he whispered. It took a second, but Harry's head whipped up so fast it was like a bludger on a serious mission. He gaped open mouthed at Ron, a terrible hope dawning behind the fear in his eyes. His breath caught in his throat and he couldn't start it again. He could have sworn he felt his heart stop beating.

"What did you say?" he asked desperately.

"You love me too." Ron repeated himself reverently. Harry's heart exploded inside his chest and the fear in his eyes grew in tandem with the hope that was there.

"You love me?" he almost couldn't bring himself to say the words. He almost dared to think he must have been dreaming. Ron nodded solemnly. Harry could only stare at him in disbelief. "When?" he managed. Ron smiled the tiniest little smile and brought a calm hand up to cup Harry's stubbled cheek.

"Ever since Hermione and I got together. It never felt right. She took my virginity and all I could think of was you. I asked her to marry me and all I could think of was you. Now she's kicked me out and all I thought of was you. It was always you, Harry. Even though I didn't always realize it." Ron watched the hope in Harry's eyes grow and grow, overshadowing the fear until the fear was completely gone, replaced by overwhelming love and longing, both of which had been there for so long he wasn't sure how he had missed them. Harry gaped for a moment, not wanting to move, or breathe, lest he shatter the moment. So Ron moved. Bringing his other hand up he cupped both Harry's cheeks and brought their faces together for their first, gentle kiss. Harry trembled as Ron's soft lips pressed against his and he felt the world slip away and he fell deeper and deeper in to an ocean of bliss. And when Ron pulled away to breathe he whimpered at the loss. So, with a smile, Ron brought them together again for a deeper kiss, pouring all his pent up love out of his soul and in to the kiss. Together, they fell back on the bed, lost in each other's arms, and fully intent on showing the other just how strong love can be when you've waited for so long.


End file.
